


ignorance has struck again

by drunkonyou



Category: Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Post-Break Up, Pregnant Harry, harry uses they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: When he thought about this moment, it was him shouting useless apologies at Harry until they cracked, until they kissed him and told himit’s okay.But it’s not okay, and that was an unrealistic, egotistical daydream he humored himself with for years.It's been ten years since Xander left Harry, so it only makes sense they end up stuck together during a storm.





	ignorance has struck again

**Author's Note:**

> my first contribution to the xarry community is a self-indulgent mess i wrote in like four days......you're welcome
> 
> title from sorry by halsey!

Between the looming storm and the empty store, Xander is quite tempted to close up shop early and just call it a day. Everyone else’s shifts ended not too long ago, leaving just him and the new kid on register, so it seems pointless, let alone _dangerous_ , to stick around for the rest of the night.

“Do we really have to stay here until ten?” The kid, David, speaks his thoughts.

Xander scratches at the back of his neck, turning away from the large expanse of windows that make up the front of the store where he was watching the rolling storm clouds quickly approaching.

“If the weather gets bad enough I'll call it an early night,” he tells him. “But usually we have to stay.”

“My mom is texting me updates and she says it's gonna be a level three out there. And the rain is supposed to start any minute.” David brandishes his phone as he says it. Xander doesn't remind him that he's not supposed to be on his cellphone while on the clock; he probably wouldn't listen anyway.

Xander takes another glance at the quickly darkening sky outside, at the single orange cart that's steadily rolling across the parking lot with the strengthening wind, and promptly makes up his mind.

“Yeah, I think I'll start closing up. Is there anyone in here?” Xander unhooks his keys from his belt loop.

David gestures vaguely towards the back of the store, scrolling through his phone. “I saw someone walk in a bit ago. Dunno where they went.”

And that's when the sky opens up. The rain comes down in one fell swoop, startling both Xander and David. It falls hard and fast, beating against the roof, and it's followed by a menacing rumble of thunder.

“Shit,” David says eloquently, pocketing his cellphone. He grabs his sweatshirt from where it was tucked in the cubby beneath the register and starts pulling it on. “I'm gonna go.”

“Give me a while to shut everything down,” Xander tells him as he pops open the drawer on the second to last register. “Then we can go.”

He’s just pulled the cash from the till when David makes a mad dash for the door. Xander watches him go, dumbfounded.

“Fantastic,” he says to himself on a sigh, turning his attention back to the money on the counter. “There's always supposed to be two people in the store at all times.”

“Good thing I'm here then!”

Xander snaps his head up at the voice and is met with the smiling face of someone he hasn't seen in almost ten years.

“Harry?

The smile drops from Harry's face when their eyes meet, and Xander’s stomach drops with it.

“Xander,” their voice climbs an octave the way it always did when they were nervous.

He tightens his grip on the short stack of money in hand, the collection of both crisp and withered bills digging into the calloused skin of his palm. He drags his eyes from where Harry stands at the first register and focuses back onto the money.

“I’ll ring you up in a second,” he tells them as steadily as possible, heart rabbiting against his throat. He shoves the money into a thin metal lockbox and shoves it beneath the counter, out of sight. After a few clicks on the registers touch screen the computer shuts down, and Xander slowly, calmly despite his sweating palms, makes his way to the register where Harry still stands. Harry is watching the wretched weather past the glass doors, a furrow between their brows, and Xander is acutely aware of how they seemed to have taken a step back, closer to the exit like they’re going to make a run for it just as David did.

With their attention elsewhere, though Xander is sure they’re paying attention to an extent, Xander seems to not be able to rip his gaze from them, do his job and ring up their order. They’re wrapped up in the most ridiculous-looking black poncho/coat combo that swallows them whole, hiding their figure, and their hair is considerably shorter, just curling around their ears instead of brushing their shoulders like he remembers it to be, and their face is softer, fuller. Xander can barely stand to look at them. He clears his throat.

Harry snaps their head at the sound, pulled from some reverie. They take another minuscule step further from the counter.

“Actually,” they say, voice low and nearly undetectable. They look again to the doors, “I think I’m just going to head home.”

Harry quickly crosses over the threshold into the carpeted lobby and when the automatic doors part at their presence a sudden gust of wind carries a blast of rain into the store, soaking Harry. They gasp at the unexpected intrusion of wet and cold and drags their hands down their face.

“Harry,” Xander calls, rounding the counter and making his way towards the front doors. He reaches out and curls his hand around Harry’s bicep and the moment his hand touches the wool of their coat they’re pulling their arm away, looking at Xander like he's a complete stranger. Which, in a way, he is.

“No,” Harry says firmly, unwavering. “I really, really can't do this now.”

They make to leave again, puts one foot before the other, but a look of overwhelm crosses their face, pinching their features, and their hand disappears beneath the folds of their heavy poncho-like coat. The odd moment is over before Xander can even react, though, and Harry is attempting to leave once more.

“Let me walk you to your car, at least,” he tries.

Harry looks warily out at the weather, at the now coal-black sky and the torrential downpour. The uncertainty is clear on their face. Their hand has yet to reappear from where it’s hidden under their clothes. “I walked,” they say simply. “The rain wasn't supposed to start until later.”

Xander laughs despite himself. The sentence is so—so _Harry ._

Harry whips their head around, suddenly looking deadly serious. Which is something Xander rarely saw in them.

“I have to get home,” they say again, enunciating each word carefully. Xander gets the sense he's missing something, but he figures it to be inappropriate to ask. It has been ten years, after all. A look of internal conflict crosses Harry’s face, then they ask after a beat, “Do you mind driving me?”

“I took an Uber here,” he suddenly feels foolish for doing so. “I live over an hour away; I was planning on staying at a motel or whatever until the storm passed.”

Harry laughs derisively, carding their fingers through their damp hair. They swipe away a drop of rainwater trailing down their cheekbone with their wrist. “You always were the brains in the relationship.”

They suck their lips into their mouth then, as if to suck the words back in that seemed to have slipped out without their consent. But the words are out in the air now, marinating between them, and Xander finds himself shifting closer to Harry.

“Harry—”

“When I said I can't do this now, Xander, I meant it.”

Their voice is hard, though Xander can detect notes of trepidation beneath the surface. He swallows.

“I’ll call an Uber for you.”

He turns and starts towards the office, and just as he’s reaching for the knob, as if he’s in a cliché made-for-television movie, the lights flicker and go out. The sudden silence leaves his ears ringing and the dark disorients him. The familiar droning of the radio is replaced by the beating of the rain on the roof and the whistling of the violent winds.

“Ah, shit.”

Xander shoves his key in the lock anyway and turns, but it’s useless. Electronically locked. _The one day he doesn't keep his phone in his pocket…_

When he turns, Harry is watching him, severely unimpressed. Xander gives an awkward smile and heads for the landline at the first register, but of course it's dead. He sighs. When he looks back to Harry, they’re leaning heavily on the line of carts parked in the lobby and has their cellphone held to their ear.

“You can yell at me when you get here,” they’re saying, “I just need to get home. Like, now.”

Xander turns away and pretends not to eavesdrop.

Harry audibly sighs, clearly growing frustrated. “What about emergency services? No ambulances even? No I don't _need_ one but I want to make sure we're safe, you know?”

Harry lowers their voice so Xander misses what they say next.

“Yeah, I’ll give her a call if I have to, but hopefully it doesn't come to that. I'm _fine_. Nick?” Harry pulls the phone away from their ear and swears softly under their breath at the blackened screen.

“Everything okay?” Xander asks hesitantly.

Harry looks at him like they’d forgotten he was even there.

“I suppose I'm stuck here until the roads reopen. It’s a state of emergency right now.”

Xander nods and squeezes past them to lock up the automatic doors. He hasn't so much as heard Harry’s voice for nearly ten years and now he's going to be stuck in the same room as them for who knows how long. _Great._

A sob suddenly escapes Harry’s mouth, and when Xander looks at them they’re wiping feverishly at their eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s up? Are you okay?” He reaches his hand out to comfort them but thinks against it.

Harry slaps their hand down on one of the carts they were leaning up against, their bejeweled fingers clacking harshly against the metal bar. They make a choked noise in the back of their throat as they stifle another sob.

“This is ridiculous,” they say in a thick voice. They sniffle, nose a bright red. “I should've just stayed home like Nick said.”

_Nick._

Xander looks back at the handbasket of groceries sitting at the register Harry had abandoned. “But you needed some Ben & Jerry’s.”

He says it to pull some sort of smile from Harry, but all he gets in return is a gaze full of daggers. Once upon a time the comment would have earned him a shove, maybe a spoonful of ice cream to the face. Probably a kiss or two, a lightly said _“don’t make fun of me. You like them just as much as I do.”_

He doesn't recognize Harry right now.

“I'm going to go sit,” Harry says bluntly, already slipping past Xander back into the store. “Been on my feet too long already.”

Xander watches as they stiffly make their way over to the nearest display couch and slowly lowers themself onto the leather cushion. They lean their elbows on their knees and drop their head into their hands. Their damp hair tumbles over their forehead and into their eyes. Xander watches them for a moment or two, then plucks the perishables from Harry’s basket, the pint of ice cream and a can of off-brand whipped cream.

“I'm just gonna go put these back so they don't go bad.”

Harry ignores him.

Xander hesitates before scurrying down the drive aisle and away from Harry at the front of the store. He sets his jaw and thinks, selfishly, irrationally, that if he never took this position and got transferred here he wouldn't have to deal with running into Harry. He hates to admit that coming back to this town was a deciding factor in whether or not to accept the promotion. He knew that there was a chance of running into them were he to ever come back here, but he never expected it to happen under such circumstances, nor so soon. He figures this is the universe’s sick doing.

When he reaches the line of coolers against the back wall and returns the sweating items to their homes, Xander finds himself fiddling inside the refrigerators, organizing things, fixing them, trying to settle his nerves. He knows he’s probably going to get his ass kicked for working off the clock (although is it really off the clock if the power cut before he could even clock out?) but he can’t go back up there and see Harry right now. He's ashamed.

Ashamed for what he did to Harry, ashamed for avoiding them for a decade.

Frankly, he's an asshole.

He closes his eyes, stills his hand where it's settled on a jug of milk. If this is the universe’s doing, then he's not going to waste the opportunity, no matter how painful it is. He's waited too long already, so it's now or never.

When Xander returns to the front of the store, hands in his pockets in a semblance of casualness, he finds Harry no longer with their head in their hands, but with their head leaning on the back of the couch, hands splayed over their thighs. Their eyes are shut and they look to be breathing methodically from their nose. Xander doesn't want to disturb the moment, but his shoe ends up squeaking against the tiled floor and Harry’s eyes are flying open and they’re curling in on themself once more, hands back on their knees as if to make themself smaller before Xander.

“You okay?”

Harry nods curtly, not meeting his eyes. Xander feels very out of place, despite this being his workplace. He feels awkward and nervous and ten years younger.

He doesn't know how much time he has with Harry, because after this they’re probably not going to return to this store if things don't go smoothly, so it really is now or never.

“Harry.”

Harry sighs like they know what's coming, but they don’t cut Xander off this time. Xander jumps at the chance to continue.

“I…” But words betray him. What the fuck does he say? _Sorry for cheating and walking out on our three-year-long relationship_ ? _Sorry for ignoring your calls and myriad of texts_? He closes his eyes against the awful flashback of Harry, younger and smaller than they are now, sitting on a couch not dissimilar to the one they’re on now, crying and begging Xander not to go. Not to leave them. Looking back on it, how could he have ever walked out on them like that?

“I'm so fucking sorry.”

Harry looks up at him then, eyes wide and bright in the darkened store. Their hair has dried in an odd shape and all Xander wants to do is run his fingers through it, smooth it down with his unsteady palm. He knows why Harry is looking at him like that; he _never_ swore. Never threw around such harsh words unless drunk off his ass or pissed beyond belief. Or in this case, so disappointed in himself he feels like his chest is about to split in two, crack right open at his sternum. He rubs feverishly at the back of his neck.

“Listen, I'm a jackass for what I did to you, okay? Plain and simple. Never in my life have I regretted something so much.” he says the words in one breath before they crawl back down his throat.

“Then why did you do it?” Harry picks their head up fully now, leans back against the couch.

Xander walks over and drops himself at the opposite end of the couch and the moment his ass touches the cushion Harry’s hand is flying at him and catching the side of his face. The pain is sudden, bright, stretching from his cheekbone to his chin. He cradles his jaw as his ear begins to ring. When he looks at Harry with raised brows, he finds Harry looking at him in surprise, hand still half-raised as if they can't believe what they’d just done.

“I've wanted to do that since you left but it wasn't as satisfying as I thought it'd be,” they lower their hand back to their lap. “Sorry.”

Xander rubs his skin, the pain dissipating under his touch. “I definitely deserved that.”

“Why'd you do it?” Harry asks again. Their voice wobbles. “I mean, did you love that girl that much more than me? Was she that much better? I just don't _get it_.”

Xander shakes his head, shifting infinitesimally closer to Harry. “I broke it off with her like...a month later. I don't even—I never _felt_ anything for her, not the way I did for you, Harry.”

“Then why'd you do it?” Harry’s voice climbs, and they slam their fist on their knee. They sigh, wincing slightly, and pushes themself from the couch. They walk off without another word, a glance back, towards the bathrooms at the back of the store. When they’re out of earshot, Xander slumps against the couch with a groan that rivals the pounding of the rain on the outside of the building.

The weather doesn't seem to be easing up, still as violent and angry as it was when the power went out, and Xander isn't sure how much more of this torment he's going to be able to take. Just being around Harry again is suffocating; he feels the way he does when they first started dating, palms clammy and stomach twisting, but not in the good way.

He gets up and walks over to the landline to find it still out of commission and slams the phone back in its cradle. He turns towards the windows, finding the storm can be heard much easier than seen at such a late hour as he’s met with his own frowning reflection. But what he can see is the steady line of rainwater streaming from a spot in the ceiling. He inches closer, squinting up at the spot with his hands on his hips. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

“Xander?”

The sound of Harry's voice startles him, and he turns from the leak in the roof to find them by the couch they were sat on, arms wrapped protectively around their frame.

“Over here.”

He fully prepares for Harry to let loose on him, but as they reach him they only say, “sorry, it's pretty dark in here.”

“That’s okay.” Xander clenches his fists at his sides, feeling like he’s standing beside a landmine. He almost expects Harry to hit him again.

Harry opens their mouth to say something, takes a single step forward, but their foot collides with the miniature trash can hidden beneath the lip of the bag carousel. Xander darts forward, arms outstretched before Harry can fall. His hands connect with Harry’s waist just as Harry’s open palm catches on the sharp edge of the counter, producing a small noise of pain from them. It goes unregistered by Xander though, because beneath his hands is the very obvious swell of a pregnant belly.

Upon noticing where Xander’s hands landed, Harry’s eyes go wide and they retreat, cradling their left hand against their chest.

Xander pulls away as if burned, and finds himself staring at Harry’s stomach, still hidden by their hideous coat.

“You're pregnant,” he notes as if it weren’t obvious. He feels a touch lightheaded at the revelation.

“I'm bleeding.”

“What?” Xander slides his eyes to Harry’s hand. “Let me see.”

He reaches out and Harry looks at him warily before extending their arm towards Xander. Their fingers are curled into their palm tightly, but the second Xander's fingers graze the back of their hand they unfurl, go slack, revealing their bloodied palm. Xander reaches behind the computer at the register and plucks a handful of tissues from the box. He presses the wad of Kleenex to the wound and bends Harry’s fingers around it.

“Come on, there’s a first aid kit in the break room.”

Harry bolsters their injured hand in the other and falls into step beside Xander. The walk across the store is loaded, their footsteps against the soft tiles amplified and the rain against the roof daunting. Xander can’t stop glancing over at them, at the set of their jaw, the slight waddle in their step, the rise beneath their coat.

He kicks the plastic doors open that lead into the warehouse lightly with the tip of his sneaker and guides Harry with a hand hovering over their upper back as they step over debris and packaged mattresses that are placed just a bit too far out into the thin walkway. They veer off into the break room on their right, cold and dark, more so than out on the main floor, and Xander finds himself pulling a chair out for Harry and gesturing for them to sit.

“Thanks,” Harry says, quietly, and lowers themself into the metal chair.

Xander reaches immediately for the first aid kit fixed to the wall, _“if you take something from here, please fill out the log above”_ written on the front in blue erasable marker. He glances at the empty sheet tacked above the box and unlatches the lid. He takes out a packet of antiseptic wipes and ointment, and a large fabric Band-Aid and sets them at the table where Harry sits.

Harry chucks the soiled ball of tissues over their shoulder into the garbage can and rests their hand palm-up on the table, stretching their fingers out. The wound is small but looks painful as it steadily weeps.

“Can you take your rings off?” Xander asks, tearing open the packet of wipes. “Just in case your hand swells. You won't be able to get them off later.”

Harry lets out a soft laugh, flexing their hand carefully. “I haven't been able to take them off in about two months, I know all about swelling. I have on a toe ring that I'm pretty sure is a part of me now.”

Xander finds his mouth curling into a tight-lipped smile. He wipes at the drying blood on Harry’s hand, swooping gently around the small cut, and chucks that too in the trash once their hand is devoid of blood. He follows it up with a small glob of the translucent ointment, then the ridiculously large bandage.

“I'm—” Harry begins to say.

“Allergic to latex, I know,” Xander finishes for them, smoothing the fabric Band-Aid out with his thumb. Harry watches where Xander is practically caressing their hand, and Xander can't seem to stop, the action familiar, muscle memory. Harry slides their eyes up to Xander's, and they’re opening their mouth to say something when their face contorts. They curl in on themself, hang their head, deflates where they sit as they force their body to relax under whatever they’re feeling. Xander slides his hand and wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist, brushing his thumb over the petal-thin skin at their pulse point.

Harry releases a breath a handful of seconds later and tugs their hand from Xander’s lax grip. They reach up and tuck a stray piece of hair behind their ear, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Xander asks, searching Harry’s face.

Harry visibly swallows. Both of their hands disappear beneath the table. “I'm fine. Just very pregnant.”

“How far along are you?” He's not sure if the question is appropriate, but he asks it anyway. He thinks he's just trying to be kind, but really he's stalling. He doesn't want to upset Harry again, doesn't want them to storm off like that again.

Harry stares at Xander instead of answering him, and he’s pretty sure the furrow between their brows is going to become permanent by the end of the night. Xander avoids their gaze by cleaning up the mess he made, brushing everything from the table into his hand and carrying it to the trash.

He brushes past Harry to reach the tall black refrigerator. He pulls the door open and plunges his hand into the dark, retrieving two bottles of water, thankfully still cold to the touch. He passes one across to Harry once he sits back down.

Harry takes the water wordlessly and wraps their hands around the bottle. Their shoe nudges Xander’s foot beneath the table and he's sure they can hear the beating of his heart in the near-silent room.

After downing a quarter of the bottle, Harry says, lips impossibly pink, “I've dreamt about this moment before.”

Xander picks at the label on his bottle. “Me too.”

“More than once, actually. Some scenarios more violent than others.”

Xander smiles.

“Never did I imagine it to go this way.”

“Yeah.”

Xander toys with a forgotten boxcutter, brushing his thumb against the slider, and Harry looks everywhere but his face.

“It’s just,” Harry pauses, searching for the words. “I want to hate you. So bad, Xander, but the moment I recognized it to be you I just wanted to throw myself at your feet.”

He grips the utility knife in his hand, letting his eyes fall closed. He doesn’t tell Harry that his first instinct when he saw them was to turn the other way and run out of pure guilt. He feels even guiltier for thinking that way.

“I’m sorry,” he says pathetically.

“I don’t—I mean, of course I want an apology but what I _need_ is an explanation.”

Xander drops the knife to the table with a soft _clack_ and tugs at his hair. “I really don’t have one.”

When he thought about this moment, it was him shouting useless apologies at Harry until they cracked, until they kissed him and told him _it’s okay_ . But it’s not okay, and that was an unrealistic, egotistical daydream he humored himself with for years. He knows what he did, he knows how he hurt Harry, but he can’t for the life of him convey any of that into words. He was just a stupid, self-destructive _child_.

Harry shakes their head, rolling their eyes up to the fiberglass ceiling. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could expect more from you. You’re horrible with words; I used to think it was cute, but you’re a grown-ass adult now, Xander.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know!” the volume of Harry’s voice makes it hard to breathe. “Don’t you think it’s been long enough to formulate an adequate explanation? Or do you just not care about me enough to give me one?”

Xander shakes his head furiously, throat constricting further. “ _No._ I don’t have an explanation because I genuinely don’t know _why_ I did what I did. I have no excuse, Harry, I was just stupid.”

Harry looks at him with a scrunched nose, then pushes back from the table, the legs of their chair scraping noisily over the floor. They leave the room.

“Harry?” Xander calls after them, standing. “Where are you going?”

Xander follows them out of the break room and into the warehouse, and instead of turning left where the first set of double doors are, Harry continues straight and stops just in front of the large cardboard baler. They stop suddenly in their tracks and spins with both hands resting on their belly. Xander nearly breaks his toes on the cement floor as not to topple into them.

“You are so infuriating!” Harry cries. “How do you just up and leave someone like that?”

Xander fish-mouths. Another bout of thunder erupts above them, this time it shakes the rafters.

“I was scared.”

Harry scoffs and turns again. Xander jumps into step beside them before they can get very far.

“I'm serious, Harry,” he says. “Between the—the finals and graduation coming up, I was under a lot of stress.”

“So was I!”

But Xander continues. He has to get the words out before they fizzle and die on his tongue. “You were the only constant in my life at the time, the only thing going right, and that scared the shit out of me.”

Harry stops again. They slide their hands from their stomach to their lower back. The way they stand now makes their pregnancy that more prominent, and Xander wonders how he didn't notice the moment he saw them. Though he supposes a part of him did, now that he thinks about it. He refused to acknowledge the fact that Harry was doing well.

“And that made you cheat?”

Hearing it makes him wince, and he hides the change in expression by bending at the waist and picking up a half-unraveled roll of white EAS stickers from the floor. He rolls it back up slowly, avoiding Harry’s burning eyes. The rain is louder in here, and it falls quick and harsh against the high ceiling.

“She was from another school, visiting a friend for their birthday or something, I don't remember,” he digs around through the box of memories in his mind he swore to never touch again. He peels back the tape, opens up the flaps, and sifts through its contents. “I met her at that end-of-semester thing at Jack's place, remember that?”

He chances a glance at Harry to find them frowning. “I didn't go to that. I had the flu.”

Xander sets the roll of stickers on a pallet stacked high with boxes. “Oh. Right.”

Harry lets out an indignant huff.

“It’s just…”

“Wait, wait, wait. That party—that was right after I talked about getting married, wasn't it? What the fuck, Xander?”

He was hoping they wouldn't remember that. “I was _scared_ ,” he tries.

“So you go out and fuck someone else? I bared my soul to you that night, told you I wanted a future with you, and instead of discussing how you were feeling you fucking _cheated_ on me? And then walked out, like, what? A _week_ later?”

Xander feels nauseous. He remembers coming home from class to the little single bedroom apartment he and Harry shared off-campus to find Harry on the bathroom floor fast asleep. He'd woken Harry up, asked them if they were okay, and carried them to the couch. They told Xander, half-comatose, that the breakfast they'd gotten at that new vegan place down the street must have repeated on them. After swaddling them up in the quilt his mother had gifted him for Christmas the year before and making them a mug of green tea, Harry told him, smelling of vomit and death, that they couldn't wait to get married so Xander can _coddle me like this all the time_.

Xander remembers Harry falling to sleep soon after the words were out of their mouth, and he waited until they’d awoken hours later when the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon to ask them what they'd meant. He remembers Harry telling him _“I meant exactly what I said. I kind of want to spend forever with you.”_

Jack’s party was the following night, and despite Harry feeling better than they did the day before, they still weren't well enough for something like that. Xander was still reeling from the conversation they'd had, barely slept a wink all night, and after one too many drinks from cheap red cups and one too many advances from the pretty girl in the sundress, he cracked.

He let himself be dragged outside to her car parked a block away, and when they climbed into the backseat he let himself forget about the three finals he had the next day, the pile of homework littering the coffee table at home, the prospect of graduation that was mere weeks away. The overwhelming and suffocating amount of love he had for Harry.

He went back to Harry at the ass crack of dawn feeling simultaneously better and worse.

A groan escapes Harry’s lips.

Xander is pulled from his painful self-absorption at the sound. Harry is gripping the handlebar of an empty flatbed cart that is in very near danger of rolling right out from under them, their bandaged hand supporting the bottom of their belly.

“Harry?”

Harry wraps their other hand around the bar, blowing a steady breath from their puckered lips. Their face is twisted in a look that pains Xander to see. He places a foot on the edge of the flatbed, reaching out to touch their elbow comfortingly.

“Don’t touch me,” they practically growl. Features still twisted, Harry grits out, “ _God_ , the contractions haven't been this bad.”

Xander’s stomach drops. “Wait—are you in _labor_?”

And as if to prove his point, Harry lets out another strangled sound and says, “my water just broke.”

Eyes wide, Xander looks down to find the cement floor beneath Harry’s feet growing dark and saturated with fluid, as does the inseam of their khaki pants. He throws his hands to his hair. This is _not_ how he expected his night to go.

“Xander,” Harry says, voice shaking and high, the way it gets right before they start crying. It’s a definite contrast to the way they were just speaking to him, so angry and full of venom.

“Okay, uh, I’m gonna go see if anyone is next door.”

He makes to leave but Harry grabs his hand as he passes them.

“It’s not safe,” they say, standing pigeon-toed and stock-still. “Don’t leave me.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry still hasn’t let go of his hand. “Come on.”

Harry whimpers. “I don't want to move.”

“Let’s go get you sitting back down,” he tugs at their arm, urging Harry to start walking. “Come on.”

He keeps his voice light and cheery, but the rabbiting of his heart at the base of his throat threatens to deter him. He guides Harry out of the chilly, damp warehouse and back into the store.

“I'm getting the floor wet,” Harry says miserably.

Xander laughs despite himself. “We got the floor crew coming tomorrow night.”

When they reach the furniture showroom at the very heart of the store he deposits Harry on a futon.

“I'm gonna go get your water.”

Xander weaves through the furniture on display and stops at the small counter to test the phone, but that one, too, is dead. With a groan of frustration, he heads back into the breakroom and retrieves their forgotten bottles of water from the table.

When he returns to where he left Harry not a moment later, Xander finds the futon empty and panic spikes through his veins. He peeks around the corner to find Harry now sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, their coat off and folded beneath them. In just their shirt Xander can finally see their very prominent belly. He holds out the water bottle when he gets closer.

Harry takes the drink with a grateful nod. After a good few sips, they say, shaky and pale, “you asked how far along I was. Does this answer your question?”

Xander perches on the edge of the mattress. After a moment he says, “is there anything I can do?”

“Unless you can stop the rain and put some charge in my cell, then no. You've done enough.”

“I sure did. I made you go into labor.”

Harry very nearly cracks a smile. “I was already in labor, actually. Started having contractions last night.”

“And you _walked_ here? When a monsoon was on the radar?”

Harry shrugs, rubbing wide, almost fervent circles over their stomach. “I needed some groceries. Plus walking keeps me young.”

Xander is reminded at once of Harry’s age, and he can really see it now, in the way they hold themself, in the subtle lines by their eyes, the way they’ve finally grown into themself. It's a stark contrast to the gangly-limbed, baby-faced bumbling twenty-something year old he fell in love with. He wonders what Harry sees when they look at him now, how grown he too must look after all these years.

He sighs dejectedly.

“Hey,” Harry says. “No more of that right now, okay? There's a time and a place for everything. Let me just...labor in peace for now.”

Xander nods, swallowing down the words on his tongue. Instead, he asks, “how are you feeling?”

Harry hums, gripping their knees and leaning their head back. “Damp and uncomfortable. And like I'm about to have a baby.”

“Too bad we stopped selling clothes years ago or else I would've gotten you a clean pair of pants.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? You sold some nice stuff.”

The last word drops off into a moan, low and disconcerting to Xander's ears. Harry blindly reaches for his hand again, squeezing until their knuckles go white. He scoots closer on the pillow top mattress and rubs their knee comfortingly with his free hand. When the contraction passes, relief clear on Harry’s face, Xander still doesn't let their hand go. Harry doesn't seem to notice or mind though. They nod their head.

“Once again, Nick was right. I should've gone to my mom’s last night.”

Xander chews his lip. He doesn't want to ask, but…

“Is Nick your…”

Harry looks to him. Xander notices their eyes are bloodshot, their forehead sweaty. But they smile and raise their clasped hands.

“Do you see a ring?”

Xander tilts their hand, the jewelry decorating their fingers glittering despite the dark. “You always said you wanted something gaudy and non-traditional.”

Harry then pulls their hand away, pressing their thumb to the already-curling edges of the oversized bandage stuck to their palm.

“How’s it feel?”

Harry flexes their hand. “Sore, but I'll live. Thanks, Boy Scout.”

Xander's chest tightens at the old nickname. Harry used to call him that every chance they got since telling them of his childhood endeavors on one of their first dates; when he got the fire going during camping trips, after putting IKEA furniture together semi-successfully, when he broke his arm Freshman Year and showed Harry how to Macgyver a makeshift splint before heading to the hospital.

With a lump in his throat, Xander says, “no problem, Hersh.”

He thinks of the old woman in the apartment across the hall from theirs and how she always got Harry’s name mixed up with her dead husbands.

Harry laughs, loud and brash, sounding ten years younger, and promptly places their hands on their rumbling belly. “Don't make me laugh or this one is going to shoot right out of me.”

Xander shakes his head at the brazen statement, suddenly feeling like no time has passed at all for them. He missed Harry.

“Do you know the gender?”

Harry fixes him with a look, one Xander has seen on them many a time, and he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“I shouldn't have even asked. What about names?”

Harry leans back on one hand, their other lovingly caressing their large belly. “I've thought of a few, but I'm sticking by the theory that I'll know right when I see them. I think it's nice.”

“Sounds it.”

Harry shifts on the bed and tugs at their still-wet pants, their nose scrunched.

“I've missed you.”

He meant to say it mentally, but by the way Harry is looking at him he can tell that's not the case.

“Me too,” Harry admits quietly. “I've thought about you almost every day since we parted.”

And he wishes Harry would stop speaking like some Shakespearean protagonist because it feels like a shot to the chest.

“About the what if’s and the what-could-have-been’s. We could be married and living in the Poconos by your grandparents like we always talked about.”

Xander hangs his head ruefully. He wants to say, _but we aren't and that's all my fault_. He's not saying he's had a bad life post-college so far, because he hasn’t, it just could've been better if he didn't royally fuck up.

He picks at a thread on his jeans and decides to indulge them. “We could've gotten two Snowshoe cats and called them Luke and Leia.”

“I have a cat,” Harry tells him. “Her name is Naboo.”

“That's terrible.”

“I know. I call her _Boobie_.”

“That's even worse!”

Harry stretches their legs out before them on the bed and scoots back a bit. Their shoe knocks into Xander’s knee. Harry looks forlornly down at their lap.

“This baby could’ve been yours.”

Xander shuts his eyes against the force of the words. It was something he was thinking, but hearing it out loud…. _fuck_. It hurts. It really, really hurts. And it dredges up old feelings he thought died years ago.

He really could’ve had a life with Harry. They could’ve been married with a sweet little house and two cats and their kids. Harry would probably be pregnant with their second, or even their third. Instead he’s as single as the day is long renting a place too close to the highway and he doesn’t even have a cat.

“I’m sorry,” Harry practically whispers. “That was a low blow.”

Xander reaches out to pat their leg, steering clear of the darkened fabric. He squeezes their knee. “It’s true and you should say it. Make me feel like shit, Harry. I deserve it.”

Harry sighs, shaking their head, when another contraction besets them. They suck in a large breath through their nose and holds it for a beat or two, then releases it as steadily as possible. Xander can’t help but reach out with the hand that was on their leg and smooth his thumb over their temple where the skin shifts with every clench of their jaw. Harry leans their head in his hand, leans into his touch, eyebrows furrowed and curved upwards in a pained expression. When it’s over, Harry sighs again, wet and thick and full of exhaustion. They turn their wrist over to look at their watch.

“That was definitely closer together. Ah, fuck.”

Xander returns his hand to his lap. Harry looks at him, eyes glassy, then slides their eyes past him and to the far windows.

“I think the rain is slowing,” Xander tells them, listening to the sound of rain on the roof, less harsh than it's been.

“But the wind is still pretty nasty.”

Harry starts to cry softly then and leans into Xander’s side. Xander is surprised at the sudden contact, the sudden closeness he'd craved again for years. He wraps his arm around their shoulders, shifting impossibly closer. Harry rests their head on his chest and Xander suppresses a shiver.

The position is so familiar and it makes every bone in his body ache. And when Xander can't help but lean his face into the back of their neck and finds Harry smells just the same, he nearly cries too.

“As hurt as I still am,” Harry begins. Xander swallows, “I'm glad it's you I'm stuck with.”

“I'm so sorry,” Xander breathes into the short curls at the nape of Harry's neck. “I was a coward, that's what I was. I can't even explain what was going on in my young, naïve mind back then.”

“I hate to say that I saw it coming though.”

Xander picks his head up a bit. “What?”

The chuckle Harry lets out reverberates through Xander's chest. “The first time you told me you loved me I thought you were going to puke. I remember the look on your face, clear as day, and I thought _this is a man that's terrified of commitment_. I figured if you wanted to leave I'd try not to be too crushed but I—” they sigh deeply, “I never expected you to cheat.”

Xander is pretty sure his chest is about to crack open and his heart is going to land in Harry's lap. Harry pulls away and takes another sip of their water.

“If we’re being honest...I never thought of leaving. Not once. I mean—there was a time back when we first started seeing each other that I contemplated flaking on a date or two but I pushed through. Because I _loved you_ , Harry.”

Harry wipes their nose on the collar of their striped button-down. “Then what happened?” He sounds so small, so young. Xander doesn't even want to know what they were like when he left.

“I don't know,” he whispers, clearing his throat. “I was just...overwhelmed. The prospect of graduating scared the daylights out of me and just thinking about what I was going to do afterward was enough to make me want to run. _God,_ I wish I could just go back in time and shake myself by the shoulders and say _it's going to be fine! Don't do something stupid like cheat on the love of your life._ ”

“All these years I thought it was me,” Harry squeezes his thigh. The touch sends a thrill up Xander's spine. “Not to sound like a narcissist but I tried to do everything right and I was so sure that I did. I blamed myself for years.”

“I should've contacted you, H,” Xander tells them. “But I just wasn't in the right frame of mind, and I was so disgusted with myself, and by the time I broke it off with _her_ , you had moved and changed your number. Your family wouldn't tell me where you were.”

Harry shimmies to the edge of the bed and pushes off onto the floor. They lean their one hand on the edge of the mattress and dig their other fist into their side. Xander notices the curve in their shoulders, the way they're curling slowly into themself again. He wants nothing more than to reach out and comfort them, but he knows he really has no right to. Everything should be on Harry’s terms, after what Xander put them through.

Harry makes a gesture with the hand that was leaning on the bed that clearly says _“keep going”_.

“I don't know what else to say,” he admits.

Harry hangs their head, letting their hair tumble over into their eyes. “Anything. Distract me.”

“You cut your hair,” is the first thing Xander thinks of.

He can see a faint smile tugging at their lips. “Long hair is quite a hazard when you work with small children for a living.”

“You followed through with the teaching thing?”

“Mhm. I'm a substitute at an elementary school.”

They face Xander now and place both of their hands on his knees. At this angle, Xander can see two fairly large tattoos on either side of their chest, just below their collarbone. He can't tell what they are, still half-hidden by Harry’s shirt, but they look kind of like birds.

“Harry Styles, do you have _tattoos_?”

Harry lifts their head to look Xander straight on, then glances down the opening of their shirt. They push their sleeves to their elbows to reveal both of their forearms are covered in a plethora of black shapes and pictures. Xander can make out a rose by their elbow, a mermaid on their left forearm. He notices the way their muscles and tendons shift beneath their inked skin. Xander yearns to touch them again. Despite Harry already having their hands on him, Xander craves more.

Harry tugs the hem of their shirt out from where it was tucked into their pants and thankfully returns their hand to Xander’s knee. The familiar warmth is so comforting, it’s something he didn't know he was longing for all these years.

“Got a few you can’t see as well,” where Xander expects there to be a smile, a coy laugh, there’s a grimace. He covers Harry's hands with his own. “Mom told me I couldn't get any tattoos until I graduated and once I did I sort of went ham. Plus heartbreak can make you do some impulsive shit.”

“I—”

“If you apologize one more time I _will_ slap you again.”

Xander lets out a soft breath of laughter.

“How's the weather looking?”

He looks towards the front of the store, squinting through the darkness. “Looks like the rain has picked back up, as has the wind.”

“I can't,” Harry says, so quiet Xander almost doesn't hear them.

“What?” He cranes his head in an attempt to get closer.

“I can't,” Harry says again, louder. When they pick their head up their eyes are shiny with tears and their skin is sallow and pale. They look a bit worse for wear. “I can't fucking do this, Xander, not here. Not now. I need to be at home, with my sister, in my own bed, my candles lit, my music playing, just how I planned to go through labor. This is,” he sobs, “a _nightmare_.”

They crawl next to Xander back on the bed and curl up on their side in what he could only assume to be a very uncomfortable position. They cry into the mattress, the dirty, disgusting mattress that has been on display for who knows how long.

“I want to go home,” they say again, weakly, sounding like a child instead of a fully grown adult mere hours away from becoming a parent.

Xander kneels on the bed, hovering over where Harry lays. “Are you sure you don't want me to head down the strip and see if anyone's around?”

Harry shakes their head, pressing their face into their bicep where their head lays. “Too dangerous.”

They clench their eyes against another distant flash of lightning, covers their face with their hand when thunder claps overhead. Xander watches them for a moment longer, then steps away from the bed, away from Harry, and slinks into the aisles on the home side of the store. He loads his arms with anything he thinks will make Harry more comfortable, going as quickly as possible as not to leave them alone for too long lest something happens. It's bad enough they're stranded at a retailer with probably the last person they want to be with while in active labor.

He returns to Harry not five minutes later and dumps everything he fetched on the next bed over. He stretches a ridiculously fuzzy blanket over the length of the mattress, lays a pillow at the head and drops another, softer blanket in the middle. He sets a large candle on a display nightstand beside it, one he put together himself just last week, and rummages through the drawer of the furniture counter for a lighter. He has no idea why there is a barbecue lighter in here, but he smiles as he comes upon it, and lights the candle. After setting the lighter gently beside the candle Xander kneels on the bed and places a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Harry,” he says quietly. “Can you get up for me?”

Harry sniffles and looks over their shoulder at him. Their eyes are red-rimmed, the tip of their nose bright pink like a beacon. Under other circumstances, Xander would have joked that they looked like Rudolph. They glance over their shoulder at the made-up bed, at the burning candle giving off an umbrella of light on the surrounding furniture, eyes glistening like they can't believe what they're looking at. Their face twists and Xander thinks they're having another contraction, but he soon realizes they're crying again. He remembers Harry being a cryer, bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, but this is definitely a new record.

Xander holds out his hand and Harry takes it. He helps them to sit up.

“Look what I found,” he tells them, holding out a rolled-up pair of flannel pajama bottoms. “We had some left over from winter.”

“Pants,” Harry rasps like they’ve never seen pants before in their life. They take them and begin to unravel them.

“Sorry you had to stew in your own juices for so long.”

Harry laughs. “You're so gross.”

They grab ahold of Xander’s arm for stability as they plant their feet on the tiled floor. They don't move for a handful of seconds.

“Everything okay?”

Harry looks up at him. “I don't think I can do it,” they say earnestly.

“You can't get your pants off?”

A blush crawls up their neck and cheeks, engulfing their ears.

“That’s alright. That's okay.”

Harry toes off their shoes, a pair of cream-colored loafers the Harry Xander remembers wouldn't be caught dead in, and Xander tugs their pants down their thighs and helps them step out of them. He discards the khakis to the side, then looks up at Harry. Harry nods, a silent go-ahead for Xander to continue. He pulls their underpants down as well, thankful their shirt is long enough to cover anything Harry might be embarrassed to display right now. He remembers Harry being the picture of unabashedness back in college, always willing to strip down to nothing whenever they felt like it, but times are different now. _Harry’s_ different, pregnant.

Once the soft pajama pants are secured around their hips, the waistband sitting just below their belly, Harry immediately squeezes past Xander and crawls onto the second bed. They shove the pillow behind their back and sit up against the headboard. Xander takes the second blanket, complete with a rainbow pattern that makes Harry smile, and drapes it over their lap. They look over to the candle, sucking in a deep breath.

“Lavender,” they breathe. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” Xander says. He tucks the blanket around Harry’s thighs and tries not to think about the way this feels exactly how it used to, coddling Harry when they were sick and lighting lavender scented candles when they were stressed. Over the last ten years, he did everything he could to not remind himself of Harry, but lavender is one thing he couldn't avoid even if he wanted to. He doesn't tell Harry about the lavender essential oil diffuser he keeps in his bedroom.

“Are you going to get in trouble for using all this stuff?”

Xander laughs because the question is so _Harry_.

“It's a special occasion.”

It's the strangest thing he ever experienced in his life, actually. What are the odds of running into his estranged ex and having to help them through _labor_ ? It's so _intimate_.

Harry gasps suddenly, hands flying to the sides of their stomach. Their eyes are wide and they're sitting stiff as a ruler against the headboard. The look of fear crossing their features scares the shit out of Xander.

“What's the matter, Harry? Are you okay?”

Harry's grip on their distended stomach tightens, palms sliding down until they're cradling the underside of their belly. They shut their eyes.

“I feel them, like, _moving_. Down, like.”

Their breath starts coming out hard and shallow and Xander immediately wraps himself over their heaving frame. They're shaking.

“Harry, _breathe_. Harry.”

When their pattern of breathing doesn't change Xander sits on his haunches before them and takes Harry's face in his hands. Their skin burns beneath his touch, cheeks clammy.

“I’m scared,” Harry manages. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Xander says, even though he doesn't, not really. He keeps his voice steady. “But you have to calm down. The rain will stop soon, the roads will be opened back up—”

“But what if it doesn't?”

Xander strokes their cheekbones with his thumbs, the pads rough on Harry's soft, soft skin. “Then we’ll just do what we have to do. But you have to stay calm, do you hear me? You can't be throwing yourself into a tizzy and putting you and your baby in danger.”

Harry nods, and Xander can already tell their breathing has slowed to a safer pace.

“Lie with me?”

Xander nearly melts at the look on Harry's face, so honest and open. He cards his fingers through Harry's hair once and shifts so he's beside them. When Harry lays down on their side, bunching the blanket up between their legs, Xander glues himself to Harry's back. He sticks his left hand beneath their shared pillow, leaving his right draped awkwardly over his side until Harry reaches back and pulls his arm over them and plants his hand on the swell of their stomach. The skin is tauter than a stomach ought to be and the subtle movement he feels beneath his palm is like nothing he's experienced before.

“What does it feel like?” He asks, Harry's sweaty hair tickling his nose.

“Hell,” Harry says bluntly. Their voice is scratchy and rough. “It feels like my hips are about to split apart and my spine is trying to turn itself into a pretzel.”

“Good visuals, thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After a painful contraction that has Harry's belly seizing up beneath Xander's touch, Harry decides they want to be on their hands and knees now. Xander obliges, shifting out of the way so Harry can get into the position they want. Xander grabs the blanket before it can tumble to the floor and drapes it over Harry’s lower back and legs. Harry lowers themself onto their elbows, keeping their bottom half up in the air. Frankly, it looks uncomfortable as all hell, but, to each their own. Xander isn't the one with a human being trying to force their way out of his body.

“Xander, can you—can you,” Harry moans low in their throat, and lowers themself closer to the bed in a weird crouch, “rub my back?”

Xander immediately rests his open hand on Harry’s shoulder blades, waiting for further direction.

“My lower back, like—” Xander slides his hand down Harry’s spine and lets it rest between their love handles. “Yeah, right there. Just—press down. I read online somewhere that it helps.”

Xander digs the heel of his palm into Harry’s lower spine, pulling a sound of relief from them. With his hand still on their back, Harry sits back on their heels, letting the blanket tumble off and pool around their hips. They drink again from their water bottle, sucking it almost completely empty. Xander uses his other hand to grip Harry’s shoulder lightly while he grinds his palm down into Harry’s back.

“I thought I was going to be able to rest in between contractions,” Harry tells him, leaning their head back, “but it's just, like, constant pain. My whole body aches.”

“Well, you never did have a high tolerance for pain. Remember when you busted your knee falling down the front steps of my mom's place and passed out?” He smiles at the memory and is elated to find Harry smiling as well.

“I still get nauseous every time I see the scar.”

“It left a scar?”

“I scar very easily, Xander. I'm like a _peach_. Get a load of this one,” they peel back their shirt to reveal their shoulder to Xander where, right next to a very small calligraphy _A_ tattoo is a thin, white scar barely two inches in length that would've been undetectable if Harry hadn't pointed it out. “That's from my nephew. When he was a toddler.”

Xander snorts.

Harry grows quiet as they're tugging their shirt back over their bare shoulder, then says, “sorry you have to see me like this. I know it's probably uncomfortable.”

Xander squeezes their shoulder. “We've seen each other in plenty of situations, H. This is nothing.”

“I meant what I said before. I really am glad it's you I'm with. Despite everything.”

“Me too.”

Harry then tenses beneath his touch, his muscles coiling tight as a snake under his fingers. He grinds his palm a little deeper into Harry’s lower back to try and alleviate some of the pain, and Harry lets out a whimper. They hold onto their belly with one hand while using the other to grip at Xander’s bent knee behind them. Xander drops his hand from Harry’s shoulder to their hip on instinct, using the tips of his fingers to massage the skin beneath the hem of their shirt.

That's when the power decides to come back on, bright and sudden. It's a sensory assault; the coolers kick on, the radio, the heat, the bright, bright overheads. Harry squints up at the ceiling, a slow smile stretching their mouth. Xander backs off of the bed, immediately reaching for the phone. The dial tone that drones through the speaker is probably the best sound Xander’s ever heard.

“The rain stopped,” Harry notes, thankfully.

“I'm calling 911,” Xander tells them, fingers already dialing the number.

“No!” His fingers fumble and he clicks the receiver when he misdials. “Call my sister, she's my midwife.”

“Gemma?”

“Yes! I planned on having a home birth and that's what I'm getting.”

Harry rattles off their sister's phone number and Xander types it in. It rings twice before she picks up.

_“Hello?”_

Her voice sounds the same. “Gemma?”

“Put it on speaker.”

Xander obliges and sets the phone down in the cradle. When he looks back at Harry he finds them sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on their shoes. _“Hello?”_ Comes Gemma’s voice through the speaker, tinny and a bit muffled.

“Gem!”

 _“Harry? What the fuck, are you okay? Nick said you got stranded at_ — _”_

“Yeah, yeah, I did. My water broke half an hour or so ago—”

_“What?!”_

“—and my contractions are like, fuck, five minutes apart? I can't really tell.”

Xander finds himself amused by their exchange despite the severity of the situation. The way they keep cutting each other off is so familiar, it makes his heart swell to be able to witness it again.

_“Jesus Christ, H. I'm getting in the car now.”_

“Roads are clear?”

 _“Yep,”_ Xander can hear the telltale sign of a car ignition. _“I'll be there in a few. You okay?”_

“As good as can be, considering.”

Gemma makes a sound of disgust. _“Yeah, considering you've been stuck with your ex-bastard.”_

Harry stops where they were tugging on their coat, their mouth dropping with incredulousness. “Okay, Gem,” they say, smiling at Xander, wide and bright, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

When their sister says her goodbyes Xander reaches over to disconnect the call.

“Sorry,” Harry says, slipping their half-empty bottle of water in their coat pocket, which they left hanging open instead of buttoning it shut.

“Again, well deserved.” He reaches out to fix the collar of Harry’s coat when they aren't paying attention. “Sorry.”

If Xander had a dollar for every apology that transpired tonight…

Harry rubs the back of their neck and turns to face him. Under the fluorescents he can see the dark purple circles shadowing their eyes, the sweat beading their brow. They look on the verge of collapse and it tugs at Xander’s heartstrings because he knows the hardest part is still yet to come.

“I keep forgetting we haven't seen each other in eons.”

Harry flashes a soft, brief smile. They spread their palms over their belly, hanging heavy and low between their hips. “Doesn't feel like ten years, huh? Though the gray hairs say otherwise.”

Xander's hands fly to his head. _“What?”_ He squawks.

Harry squeezes his bicep. “I always knew you'd be a silver fox.”

He wasn't expecting Harry to run a hand through his hair, cheesing the whole time. When he looks into this sweet, round face, he wonders how he ever could have hurt them. He definitely wasn't expecting Harry to wrap their arms around his neck next and to hug him as close as their body will allow. Xander presses his hands to their back, his face to their neck, drinking them in, soaking them up, just in case they don't see each other again. It's a far-fetched possibility, considering what they went through together tonight and the fact that they still have so much to go over, so many loose ends to tie up, but it's still a possibility nonetheless. He knows how deeply he hurt Harry, and he now knows that hurt extended to their family, but he’ll be damned if he lets Harry slip away again without completely paying his dues.

A car horn blares somewhere outside the store.

Harry gives Xander a tight squeeze, and he lightly squeezes their hips in return. “Thank you for everything.”

It almost feels like a goodbye, like they're talking about more than what transpired tonight. Like Harry’s trying to give them the closure they deserve instead of the reconciliation Xander always secretly longed for, despite everything he did and how much he always thought he wouldn't ever get the chance to fix things. Now that he has Harry again right here in his hands he doesn't want to let go. He wants to say _“wait, there’s still so much I need to explain”_ , but maybe things are good enough as is for Harry, and therefore he should just let sleeping dogs lie.

The horn honks again, loud and urgent. Harry pulls away and Xander as well. He sees they're crying again, but he can't distinguish it now. Perhaps they're the same tears they cried ten years ago when Xander handed them his key.

“Hey now,” he says, voice wobbling and wipes their tears away messily with the heel of his palm. “You're going to have a baby, none of that.”

Harry cocks their head and furrows their brows in a way that indicates they're about half a second from releasing a fresh batch of tears. But instead, they just wipe their palms on their pants and step out of Xander’s embrace. He walks them up to the front of the store with a guiding hand at the small of their back.

As they reach the main lobby two figures standing outside of the doors illuminated only by the headlights of a parked car beside them are squinting through the glass and into the store with their hands cupped around their eyes. When they pull away at their arrival Xander recognizes them to Harry’s mother Anne and older sister. He unlocks the front doors and manually slides them open and Gemma slips through as soon as the crack is wide enough. She reaches immediately for Harry’s belly while Anne reaches for their cheeks.

Xander steps to the side to give them space. He makes eye contact with Harry’s step-father where he sits in the passenger seat of the car outside and looks away.

“We've been so worried.”

“Yeah, Gemma says, “we thought by the time we got here you'd have given birth in the bathroom or something.”

Harry chuckles, resting their hands atop their mothers. “Not at that point yet, I don't think. Soon, but not quite. I would like to get home though.”

Okay,” Gemma says firmly. “Nick and Michal are at Mom and Robin’s getting everything ready.”

“I hope they remembered to change the sheets to the cheap ones I bought last week.”

“I did that before Gemma picked us up, don't you worry.”

“Ugh, I love you, Mom.”

“We need to get going,” Gemma urges Harry. “You've already dropped so low, I'm surprised the baby hasn't just fallen out of you already.”

“Are all midwives so eloquent?” Harry asks their mother.

Anne shakes her head at her grown children’s antics and begins buttoning up Harry’s jacket for them. 

“Wait,” the word bubbles up Xander’s throat and escapes without his consent. The three Styles's turn to look at him, Harry forlornly, Gemma scathingly, and Anne like she just noticed him standing there. At the sudden attention, he completely blanks on what he was going to follow up with. After a moment of very awkward, palpable silence, he remembers. Holding up a finger, Xander races back through the store to the furniture display area and over to the bed the blankets are still splayed out on. He reaches for the lavender candle, still burning away steadily, and blows out the flame and presses the glass lid back on securely.

Harry’s eyes go wide at the sight of the candle when Xander reappears, and they reach for it with grabby hands. Gemma hums disapprovingly and Anne conspicuously slaps her behind like she's reprimanding a young child instead of a thirty-something year old.

“Let's go,” Gemma says impatiently, mood blatantly souring at the presence of Xander.

“Yeah, I have a lot I need to take care of here anyway.”

But she ignores him. “It’s already going to take longer than usual to get to Mom’s since the roads are a madhouse and I don't really feel like you messing up the seats on my brand new lease.”

“I’m so glad I so lovingly chose you to deliver my child, Gem.” Harry hugs the candle to their chest, features twisting infinitesimally at another forthcoming contraction.

At the change in expression, their family crowds into their space and begins ushering them out the doors. When the three of them are just over the threshold, Harry looks back over their shoulder at where Xander stands, eyes wide and terrified. He thinks they look vaguely like they're being manhandled into a squad car, the way their sister all but shoves them into the back seat.

“Good luck!” Xander calls, just before their sister shuts their door.

He watches the car speed through the slick parking lot and away down the street until it's completely out of sight, lost in the darkness of night. Heart heavy in his chest and fingertips still tingling with adrenaline, Xander locks the doors once more and heads towards the office.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: iesbianjedi  
> tumblr: harryswilde


End file.
